


orbital

by perennials



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: M/M, Too much introspection, killua mopes gon sleeps, u can skip the italicized nightmare bit it doesn't rlly add much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 17:04:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6713524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perennials/pseuds/perennials
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killua and Alluka never stopped moving; Gon never left. He grew outwards, like a plant; Gon shrunk inwards, festering old wounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	orbital

**Author's Note:**

> i finally finished hxh  
> lost a lot of salt  
> will write more canon things now (hopefully)

_A pitch black room. How familiar. Blinding white light. How disconcerting. An unwavering figure with confident, strong lines. How familiar. The walls threaten to suffocate. Disassociate._

_You are shrouded in darkness’ cold embrace; he is fire and heart and soul, all intact. You are cold. You are so cold._

_He takes a step towards the light and you hide in his shadow as it grows. Moving in stunning slow-motion, like a criminal caught on camera/in the act, you try to call out his name._

_The words are bobby pins and they catch in your throat like floundering fish in a net (long-dead)._

_—You cannot remember his name. What is his name? What is his name? You are cold, you are cold. (What is his name?)_

_He takes another step, soundless. You are pinwheeling in your head, you think that maybe you are dead. How disconcerting. Your breath hitches. Maybe you are not breathing at all. You think you are dead._

_In a fit of desperation you lurch forward on unbalanced knees and snag your fingers on his shirt it is white it is crumbling it is soot and dust and powdery (like donuts, like stars) on your hands and it stings like a paper cut_

_—he is melting like pudding under the hot summer sun, all gooey and watery and sticky like jello that’s been left to sit on the kitchen table for too long, insides pouring out like strawberry jam and miracle whip, puddle of strawberry milk simmering on the ground, slipping and sliding away like a beaten animal._

_You blink once and he is intact again. Paper boy, origami child. Folded like a mistake—no, you are the mistake. Make no mistake, he is no demon. The boy with no name begins to turn_

_You cannot breathe, you are seeing red and white at the edges of your vision, he is white like a snow-angel, like a paper cut, you are red, you are bleeding, he is an angel_

_and he turns_

_he turns_

_turns/he_

_—he is no longer white and you have seen that jacket and those shorts and those boots so many times you balk at the prospect of having ever forgotten. How familiar. How disconcerting. He waves at you, and in the back of your mind you know that he should be smiling but he has no face_

_you are staring at an empty slate_

_empty plate, the picky child ate all his greens_

_mommy’s not going to be mad anymore_

_The boy has no face._

 

_-_

 

The first time Killua has a nightmare whose vivid, burning image even Alluka can't erase from his mind with her feather-like touches and gentle whispers, he escapes onto their third-floor balcony and spends the rest of the night on the wrought iron chair by the railing.

Killua's cheeks tingle faintly as a cool ocean breeze ruffles his hair and another ripple of waves kisses the sandy beaches down below. Carding his fingers through his hair, he turns his gaze skyward, to where the stars have lit a gnarly path through the infinite, sprawling canvas of deep cerulean blue. Like powdered donuts, except the chocolate is the sky and the fine sugar coating is a sea of stars. For a second it briefly crosses his mind that if he follows that path all the way to the end perhaps he will— _no_ , Killua laughs aloud to himself, _no_ — even he is not silly enough to believe that there is a pot of gold at the end of any rainbow. He sits cross-legged on the chair, props his elbow on one knee and nestles his chin in his palm.

It's been almost three weeks since they settled into the latest town— a week too many, really, Killua can't help but think, as he continues to watch the sky. Maybe it's time they make for the next city; Alluka's got her eye on a gorgeous gemstone that's rumored to only be found in Shi Quan Zhen, plus the smell of the sea's begun to soak into his clothes and hair, and he’d rather not have lingering attachments to any one place, be they physical or emotional.

Over the last six months, it's become a sort of unspoken rule between the two of them not to spend more than two weeks in any given location. This was, first and foremost, a practical decision on Killua's part, as it greatly minimized the chances of Illumi tracking them down on one of his whims and giving Alluka any trouble. However, it was also because Killua wanted to travel baggage-free in the fast lane (so he could show Alluka all the wonders of their world, he told himself), and that certainly could not be accomplished if they simply sprouted roots wherever they went. So they had buzzed from one bustling town to the next, traveling by train or car or airship or foot, eagerly partaking in whatever strange proceedings they stumbled into. They'd collected rare treasures and cheap tourist trinkets and all manner of absurd items, pissed off fat merchants atop mountains of riches and saved the lives of countless others, tried delicacies like fire-bellied toad toes (fried with sriracha sauce) and dragon scale soup.

And Killua had sent emails. One in the first month after they'd gone their separate ways, to which Gon had written an enthusiastic, near-immediate reply. He'd gone back to Whale Island and seemed to have lost the ability to use Nen. But that was okay! He was having a good time catching up with everyone. He'd missed the smell of the forest. The sunrise had never looked more beautiful from the cliff that overlooked the ocean than it did now.

It'd almost seemed like nothing had changed at all. Gon was still Gon. Killua was still Killua. This was just a temporary detour, a side quest on the way to the rendezvous point. Killua walked with a spring in his step and talked with a smile in his voice.

After that they got caught up in a little skirmish with a snobby prince sporting an equally rage-inducing mustache, and contact broke for a couple of weeks. Or so Killua had thought— it turned out he'd left Gon's last email hanging for two whole months, and what struck him as odd was that Gon hadn't bothered with sending anything asking after him, either.

What followed was months of awkward, stilted correspondence and emails that, as if they were slowly being whittled away at with a knife, gradually cut shorter and shorter. Killua and Alluka never stopped moving; Gon never left. He grew outwards, like a plant; Gon shrunk inwards, festering old wounds.

Killua sent him another email about a week ago. He hasn't checked his inbox since then.

In the blink of an eye spring flew by and June descended like a wealth of silver-lined clouds. A living ghost haunts his dreams. He's really spent far too long in this quiet seaside town, long enough for the saltwater to have permeated his skin. Killua knows this because his heart has begun to ache just a little, and from past experience wounds of this sort do not hurt when not given sufficient attention and thought. He stopped to breathe, but it turned out breathing hurt, too, so he tried to stop breathing, except that didn’t quite work— now he’s suspended in a kind of limbo, torn between events that have already passed and things that have yet to happen.

A shiver runs up his spine as a stark white scene from his nightmare flashes through his mind, and he shakes his head roughly, tries to force the image out of his head.

He remembers the angel’s name now. Of course he does; he’s never really forgotten.

For the first time since they said goodbye at the base of the World Tree, Killua feels the full intensity of the gaping hole Gon’s absence left in his heart, and wishes with all his might that he could not. He ran forward too fast, stretched the rubber band too tight, and now that the rebound's hit he's left stinging in its wake.

Killlua sighs out a single word, lets it dissolve into the crisp atmosphere. _Gon_ . When was the last time he said his name aloud? It's a painfully familiar yet alien weight on his lips, as though his tongue has forgotten how to curl itself properly around the muted syllables. It sounds small and hesitant and uncertain, not at all like the way he used to say it. _Gon_. Breathe. _Exhale_. _Gon._

Fishing around in his pocket absentmindedly, Killua is struck with the inexplicable desire to call. What time is it on Whale Island? Does Gon still have the Beatle 07 Leorio bought in Yorknew City? Is he awake? Is he feeling the pervading chill of two in the morning? Will he pick up?

Will he pick up?

He looks over his shoulder to where Alluka is dozing peacefully in the room.

He'll pick up. He will, won't he?

Killua calls Gon.

It rings for a flat minute, then for a minute more, and just when Killua is about to hang up he hears a click.

"Hello?" Killua's voice is barely above a whisper, his heart hiccuping unevenly in his chest.

There's no reply.

He tries again. "Gon?"

Only silence seeps through from the other end of the phone.

"Gon," he repeats, louder this time.

After a prolonged pause, he gets his reply. "Mmmmm."

Six months and yet Killua swears he could recognize that lilting voice anywhere.

"Gon." he swallows, hard, takes a deep breath. "How've things been? Alluka and I— we've traveled to all five continents now. We've been having a lot of fun! We even met some familiar faces along the way: Palm's decided to follow Bisky on her gemstone-hunting adventures, and Knov's really starting to grow into his newsboy cap look, though his hair hasn't shown any signs of returning anytime soon. We're staying in Dolov Port right now, it's a really cool place! They have the best seafood around, and you get to see all sorts of cool sea creatures if you go swimming in the sea."

Killua pauses for half a second, then continues talking. "We went deep-sea diving, you know. It was super fun! I managed to get a photo of an anglerfish. Alluka was terrified of it, but I thought it looked awesome. It was _huge_ , man. Like, bigger than _ten_ _Morels_ put together. You would've loved to see it." As he goes on, Killua stops addressing Gon so much as just recounting the events of the last few months in minute detail, as if he is a storyteller and Gon is just another face in the audience. "...I've been _totally fine_ without you, I hope you know that. Alluka's a far better travel companion; she doesn't pummel me to death in my sleep or fight for the larger slice of cake or get herself into near-death situations every other day, unlike a certain someone." He stops here to catch his breath, and also in anticipation of Gon's indignant protest in response to his pointed jab.

But it's only met with more silence.

Gripping the phone tighter, Killua's heart plummets to the bottom of his stomach. He's five seconds away from hurling the Beatle 07 into the ocean when something that sounds suspiciously like a snore reaches him. It’s only then that it occurs to him that Gon may have not responded simply because he hadn’t been able to. Perhaps he hadn’t been awake at all to begin with— the chances of him having pressed the button with his elbow certainly weren’t nonexistent.

Killua can’t help but smile faintly in relief.

“Well, that’s okay. I’m sure you’ll find a way to get me back.” As he speaks— mostly to himself— his eyes soften a little, and his voice loses its familiar, confident edge. “We’ll definitely meet again, you hear? When I’m done touring the world with Alluka, I’ll come back, and your Nen’ll be back, and we can explore all sorts of places and almost die a lot of times but not actually die.” Somewhere along the way Killua realizes his eyes are wet, but he wipes the tears off on the sleeve of his shirt and keeps going. “So just wait for me, okay?”

Hesitation evident in every taut line of his body, Killua pushes his uncertainty to one side and lays down the closing line. “I’ll see you around. Good night, Gon.”

He hangs up.

 

-

 

On Whale Island, in a little house with a tiled roof, in the second-last room from the end of the hallway, Gon shifts slightly in his sleep as the call ends with another mechanical click. As he does so, the Beatle 07 nestled in his hand tumbles to the ground and lands with a soft thud. He’s passed out flat on the covers with a feather white pillow tucked under one arm and his eyes blissfully shut after a grueling day of school work, and there is a gentle smile like the sunrise on his lips.

“Good night, Killua.”

**Author's Note:**

> at first i was like hmmm is killua cryin too much but then i looked at all my screenshots of people in hxh crying and saw a lot of killuas and that's when i decided that would (probably) be ohkay  
> thanks for readin!! kudos and comments and you my friend are cool, but comments are like the coolest of all
> 
> have a good one


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